


Julian Albert, Stop Trying to Apply Color Theory to a Tree

by Galo



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Gift Fic, M/M, Secret Santa Exchange, Xmas fic, arguing over decorations, xmas tree decorating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 01:44:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8948695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galo/pseuds/Galo
Summary: Never, has anyone ever used "decorating a Christmas tree" as an example of character-building, but maybe they should start because, boy, does Julian learn a few things while trying to put up with Barry on his biggest work assignment of the year. For the 2016 Allenbert Secret Santa Exchange.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For sophisticated-serial-killer @ Tumblr. It was a lot of fun being your Secret Santa!

Christmas loses its charm once a bout of estrangement gets tossed in the festivities. Every household brand churns out commercials that espouse the importance of family. CCPD tunes into the holiday station and Julian grimaces at the thought of his mother exchanging pleasantries with a man covered in soot. Who even thought up those atrocious lyrics?

While others share in their enthusiasm, smiles bright, Julian hits the case notes in search for inspiration. As a scientist and a historian, he seeks patterns in his work.

When he’s recruited to decorate the plastic tree in the middle of the precinct, Julian relies upon the very same patterns.

At his side is the ever-popular Barry Allen who _volunteered_ like the boy scout that he is.

It’s a true Christmas miracle that Allen hasn’t bungled up and dropped any of the glass ornaments yet. The tree is tall enough that it requires the aid of a stepladder; the lankier you are, the harder you fall. (Allen can’t afford anymore knocks to the head, he’s pretty damn sure.)

“Whoa, hey, Julian. I’ve already got the colored lights unraveled.”

Julian stares at the garish loops of hyperactive screaming color. He opens his mouth. Closes his mouth. Ignoring Allen is a better use of his time and white lights are clearly the better choice. This was their _work environment_ and that means maintaining a certain level of decorum, regardless of how much eggnog was on everyone’s minds.

“Oh, come on. _Really?_ You’re gonna give me the cold shoulder?”

Julian sets aside the white lights and squares his body towards Allen. “Look at the rest of the decorations. See all the gold and silver? You can’t put up that blinding mess and still expect the tree to look decent.”

An eye roll follows. “I only pulled that stuff out because the stockings and reindeer and Santa Clauses were underneath them. We already did the silver and gold look last year.” As if it’ll change Julian’s mind, Allen pulls a stuffed sled from the bins and wiggles it.

Julian is not impressed. “I wasn’t here for Christmas last year.”

Allen scoffs. “Trust me, I haven’t forgotten.”

Julian shakes his damn head and grabs the stepladder. Up he goes, insistent on using the white lights. He takes it as a good sign that he hears no complaints from Allen.

However, if he means to get the first ring of lights around without moving the stepladder, Julian will have to suck up his pride and ask Allen to do a loop around for him.

He decides against the safe approach, then, and extends further than he ought to. He’s not all that surprised, really, when his foot catches against the handle and he starts to topple. What does surprise him, however, is the lack of a painful smack against the floor. There’s the loud clatter of the footstool, yes, but he’s doing just fine himself.

“Are you crazy?!”

Ah, the reprimand. Allen caught him before he cracked his head on the floor. Well, this is embarrassing.

“You already know I’d never answer that in the affirmative. Who does that?”

“I don’t know, that’s not the point!”

Julian never meant to initiate a staring contest but the thought of losing to Allen in any way, shape, or form is simply unacceptable. “So when exactly do you plan on putting me down?”

Embarrassment floods Allen’s cheeks. “Okay, now you’re just being difficult on purpose.” But he obliges Julian and his roundabout request, somehow managing not to get his gangly limbs all tangled up in the complicated process of lowering someone to the ground.

Once they’re sorted out, Allen lets out a sharp exhale of exasperation. He waves his hand about, shaking his head over some unseen force that’s sucked the energy out of him. Julian would take pride in being able to get under his skin like that but seeing Allen like this just makes him moody.

Allen grumbles, “You know what? We need a coffee break. Grab your coat.”

The next thing Julian knows, Allen has left the building. He’s a little too self-righteous, he notes, to feel abandoned. Then again, some bastard child of shame and guilt catches in his throat.

He seizes his coat and wraps himself up in it. It’s no blanket but Julian’s never been one to try and seek comfort outside the bottle.

By the time he’s out the door, Julian half-expects Allen to have up and vanished. Imagine his surprise when he sees Allen no more than five feet away with a leg propped up the wall. Not a second goes by without him unlocking his phone to check the time.

Allen glances up and catches him staring. His voice wavers with mild concern. “I was about to head back inside, see if you needed help putting your coat on.” Worry gives way to cheeky charm. “I gotta ask, is that not a thing you guys learn ‘across the pond’? ‘Cause if that’s the case, you can’t say _anything_ about our education system.”

Julian continues to stare, baffled by the joviality spiking Allen’s choice of words. It’s like he’s been slipped a mug of eggnog and told it’s just a cup of warm milk.

He clears his throat. “No, you’re right.” He folds his arms across his chest. One more wall against the world isn’t going to make a difference. “I do need help.” Not when he goes and tears it all down.

All the edges and lines of Allen’s wit soften into something tender and nostalgic. He’s not quite smiling but he doesn’t have to be. “In that case, we’re skipping the coffee and breaking out the hot cocoa. Heavy duty pick-me-up. You like marshmallows in yours?”

“It’s not hot chocolate until there’s a disgusting layer of the stuff on top,” Julian confesses.

The closest cafe is Jitters but Allen walks him right past it. Julian thinks to ask where they’re headed, but he has the strangest thought that if he makes a sound, Allen might notice that he’s taken him by the wrist and let go.

It’s less charming when he realizes Barry thinks he’ll try to make a run for it: It becomes charming again when he realizes _it’s Barry_ _now_.

*

“Allen--”

“We don’t have to be close for you to call me ‘Barry’, you do realize that, right?”

There have been hints dropped here and there, but it still comes as a shock to walk into the West household. Julian wonders if Joe adopted Barry soon after the incident, the one Barry only ever brought up because he’d spilled his own guts out in a moment of weakness.

“Before you make fun of me for living at home still, might I just argue that I am making a sound financial decision. A respectable one at that.” Barry gestures towards the sofa while he takes up the armchair.

The good detective isn’t there to greet them; he’s still out in the field, chasing bad guys and fighting crime.

Julian stands by the door, staring at the photographs that sit upon the mantle, the details too far away to be made out: He invents scenes for the frames, envisioning Iris and Barry at the park with their father.

Barry ducks into the kitchen, presumably to make the hot chocolate. With no one in the spacious living room to judge him, Julian wanders closer to the fireplace and sees that there really was a picnic day, the picturesque American family. He moves from photograph to photograph, some smiles more candid than others. Iris makes him think of Emma.

“Sorry.” It’s Barry, with two Christmas-themed mugs. Barry gets Rudolph and he gets to slurp sugared milk out of a snowman. “I should’ve realized it’s a hard time for you. You even told me about it over drinks. I’m an idiot.”

Julian nods lamely as he takes his mug. “I haven’t been home since, nor am I in the business of spending the holidays with colleagues.”

“What about friends?”

“A distant memory,” Julian tells his snowman. “Something I’ve moved past expecting. Or needing.”

Barry sets his untouched hot cocoa down and takes Julian’s away from him, too.

“I don’t think pushing people away has actually managed to convince you that that’s true. Is that why you don’t trust me?”

Barry is close now, close enough to rest a hand upon his shoulder. Julian lets him do it, even though his eyes are fixated upon those calloused fingers. A breathy laugh escapes from him. “And here I thought it was just a fluke. That either I was emotionally compromised or pissed to the gills and that was why you could see right through me, but no!” -- Julian shoves him in the chest each and every time his voice raises -- “You just--you _bulldoze_ into my life and act like you know me! The worst part is, you’re right, you’re bloody right about me!”

Light shines in Barry’s eyes, like a glimmer of hope. But confusion and doubt mar his brow. His mouth twists and leaps over a hurdle, running after words that are too fast for his mind. He looks away. He looks back. Unable to find the right things to say, he allows that hand upon Julian’s shoulder to cup the back of his neck.

“No, trust me… I don’t know a thing about you. I want to, though, I can’t stop _wondering_ what your deal is. I thought I just wanted to know why you hate me. Turns out, I just really want to make you like me.”

Julian catches himself whispering, “I _don’t_ like you,” as he leans in. No matter what he says, no matter how he runs, Barry keeps catching up to him.

“Guess I’ll just have to learn to live with that,” Barry murmurs back, the last of the words brushing against Julian’s lips.

It lasts for a second before Barry eases back and fear dances in his eyes. They both expect to hear rejection but Julian surprises them both. “I think we should embrace change instead.”

“I told you it could be a good thing.” The sweetest smile reaches across Barry’s face. “But, um, yeah, let’s finish our hot cocoa, _aaand_... head back before Singh realizes I’ve been a bad influence on you. ‘Cause, because we’re gonna be late. Not because you and I did that thing with our mouths.”

“Kissing,” Julian corrects. “The word you’re looking for is ‘kissing’.”

Barry grabs Julian’s mug out of faux spite and takes a long swig. This, of course, leaves him with the blessing of the marshmallow stache.

Julian can’t remember the last time he’s laughed as hard as he is now.

*

“Interesting choice with the Christmas lights, gentlemen…” Captain Singh stares at the tree decked out in silver bells as well as red, blue, and purple tinsel.

Julian clears his throat, giving way to an explanation. “We thought a change in pace was in order. A little color never hurt anyone.”

Barry chimes in to defend his decision, too. “Yeah, and this way, none of the lights will collect dust. At least, you know, until we pack them up for the rest of the year.”

A ring of gold chains into a ring of red, blue, green, pink, and orange and the pattern continues from head to toe. Felt ornaments sit beside delicate glass ones. There’s a nutcracker dangling above an angel with a trumpet like an odd couple.

“Right, well, thank you for handling that. Happy Holidays to you both.” The captain marches off for his office, no doubt preoccupied with what to get for his partner.

Julian turns to Barry just as the man does the same, eliciting a nervous chuckle from both parties.

“So,” Barry starts. “Turns out we were both right. I mean, it looks good when we put the two together. Problem solved.”

“It turns out you’ve an eye for odd pairings, Barry, something I’ve never been daring enough to attempt.” Julian slips his hands into his pockets as he tries to muster up the courage to meet Barry’s gaze again. “How am I always so wrong about you--?”

“When you’re so right for me?”

Barry has the nerve to waggle his brows, to which Julian cries out, “This! This is why I don’t like you, Barry Allen, you are a _menace_ who owes me a coffee.”

In conclusion: It takes them one coffee date to find their place, two coffee dates for Julian to declare his usual, and three coffee dates for Barry to invite Julian over to spend Christmas with the family.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me @ khemeioa on Tumblr.


End file.
